


For the First Time

by KarenHikari



Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Angst, Family, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-06-07 16:49:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6814105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KarenHikari/pseuds/KarenHikari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time she stared into her brother’s gray eyes she wasn’t thrilled, she wasn’t excited, she wasn’t amazed and, all in all, she wasn’t happy―she was disgusted, she was nauseated, she was disappointed. Funny, she thought bitterly, how things changed, how hate could turn into love, how from despise could born trust, how life could turn into death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For the First Time

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I know I have something with angst and these series right now, just let me have my moment, okay?
> 
> In truth, I had been planning to write this story for almost a year now. Remember, a long, long time ago when I published "Gone" and "Didn't Love Him"? Well, this idea dates from then, more or less. The thing is that, while writing "Didn't Love Him" it occurred to me that while Maryse was a responsible adult (supposedly) and she could control her negative emotions towards her son, Isabelle was just a child, already suffering -and on her own- from what she knew her father had done to her mother to now she have to fight how she felt towards the boy who was the cause they parents were still living together in the first place.
> 
> But then again, at the point where we meet the characters (I mean, in the actual series), Isabelle loves her brother, and Max of course loves her back. This story is plainly all the way I imagine they had to go until they actually got there.
> 
> Also, I found very interesting how at some point of one of the last books (I think it was "City of Lost Souls" but perhaps it's "City of Heavenly Fire") Isabelle says that at first she didn't like Jace, and that's why I decided to add our little blond at the end.
> 
> One more thing before leaving. There's a part in which Robert gets... violent. Don't get me wrong, I don't hate him, I now he made mistakes, like we all do, but I don't really think he'd gone this far. I just needed something to provoke Isabelle such a great change of mind and I chose Robert Lightwood as my scapegoat, it's not personal, please don't hate him!

The first time she stared into her brother's gray eyes she wasn't thrilled, she wasn't excited, she wasn't amazed and, all in all, she wasn't happy―she was disgusted, she was nauseated, she was disappointed.

That baby, small and innocent as he looked curled into a tiny ball as he slept as the one and only responsible of her mother's suffering, of her own jumpiness when she crossed paths with her father, who had cheated on her mother and who wouldn't even be there still if not for the birth of the demon she was staring at.

That wasn't her brother, Isabelle Lightwood decided. That was the curse that had sealed her family's luck.

―*―*―

Months went by and all Isabelle Lightwood could do was thank the Angel for the huge amount of rooms the Institute had. Really, it was almost perfect if what one was looking for was precisely to maintain oneself away from every other person.

Whenever she was required to watch over her younger brother, she politely ―turned around and slammed a door― declined, which would have resulted in her parents nagging at her, if not for her solicitous brother, who saved her by offering to take care of their younger brother instead.

Never had she held the young boy in her arms, and unlike what the norms of fraternal love marked, she wasn't moved by his chubby face and huge gray eyes. She wasn't tempted too fake a higher tone of voice and talk to him or to even play with him. No, not in the least. That boy was the responsible of her mother's and of her own unhappiness. No, her mother had explained her what had happened between her and her father and no, she was not letting a toddler make her change her mind.

Blood wasn't love, she knew, and she felt no ties with that child, whether if they called the same woman mother or not.

However, she wasn't a tyrannical person either, and her indifference towards the young boy was put to test one day while her mother and Alec were at Idris and Max was left with her father and her to take care of him.

Under normal circumstances, in any other family, Max would have been mostly watched over by both of them, and Maryse would have trusted her daughter to be responsible and look after her brother. In this world, Isabelle wanted anything to do with the boy and Robert wasn't known for his ability to take care of children.

This statement became painfully obvious when they sat at the table for dinner in a silence that was only broken by a vague humble on Max's side.

Things started to go wrong soon. For a start, Maxwell was only just learning to hold cutlery and either Maryse or Alec usually helped him while at the table. Unfortunately, they weren't there, and Robert was too busy going through the newspaper to mind his son; Isabelle, on the other hand, only wanted to detach herself from the matter.

If maybe, just maybe, Isabelle would have taken pity in the distressed sounds from the toddler every time he tried to get the food into his mouth and his locomotor system failed him, making him drop the food, probably things would have turned out differently.

Isabelle Lightwood, however, had become very successful at ignoring any whimper that came from her younger brother, and thus she continued eating, her eyes stubbornly focused on her plate.

On the other hand, Robert was used to have Maryse taking care of things soon enough and therefor he wasn't nearly as efficacious at ignoring the babbling from his youngest child.

Both Isabelle and Robert continued to mind their own business as best as they could, until the desperate toddler finally broke crying in violent sobs as he called for his mother.

Even as she did feel a tugging of guilt burn in her chest for a second, Isabelle only dug her nails into the flesh of her palms silently, repeating herself that this whole scene had nothing to do with her.

Things only got worse, however, when Robert couldn't stand the despaired whimpers anymore and, instead of standing up to near the boy or hold him like would have been normal, all he did was drop both his hands on the table, startling the two of his children, and turn to the child.

"Enough, Maxwell" Robert hissed in a voice dangerously low. Of course, his heedless actions only made the boy start crying harder, product of a fear that had just started to build inside of him. "Didn't you hear me, Maxwell?" he added then.

Her eyes downcast, Isabelle didn't realize how out of his mind her father was until, from the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of Robert's raised hand, ready to fall right on the toddler's left cheek.

Indifferent and collected as she was, something did jump in the girl's chest, and apparently, so did her legs, as before she even knew it, she was standing too.

"Stop!" she ordered with a ragged breathing. "Don't touch him!"

"Excuse me?" Robert inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"Don't… don't do that" the girl stuttered, feeling her instant security abandon her now that the adrenaline of the moment had washed away. "Please".

"And why so?" her father questioned, fully turning to his daughter now. On his side, it seemed that Max had really understood someone was speaking in his favor, for his desperate cries had softened to become low sobs. "I assume that if you're speaking up then you will take care of this… setback".

An icy silence followed Robert's words until the girl swallowed loudly, nodding. "I… I will, father" she replied in a whisper.

"And so? I'm waiting" the older shadowhunter inquired skeptically.

With her eyes turned to the ground, Isabelle walked over to the high chair Max was sitting on and sighed. "It's okay. It's okay" she murmured, extending her arms towards the boy for the very first time.

"'Ommy" the toddler whispered, relieved to hear a kind voice, at least. Soon enough, he was raising his tiny arms for his sister to hold him.

"Not here" the girl swallowed. "But it's okay, you'll be fine" taking a deep breath, Isabelle finally dared to take her brother by the sides and brought him to her chest.

In all honesty, Isabelle was the first one surprised when the boy immediately felt comfortable in her arms and hid his tear-stricken face into the crook of her neck, still trembling slightly from time to time, product of the remnants of his whimpers.

"I hope for the well-being of you both that from now on you keep this unfortunate scene from happening" Robert warned as he folded his newspaper and headed to the library, out of the dining room, leaving Isabelle with a sniffing baby and no clue of what to do.

The first three minutes were probably the hardest, Isabelle thought, as she had never held a baby, let alone her brother, and thus feared dropping her due to her clumsiness. Had she felt so indifferent about the boy, she considered later, she wouldn't have cared.

The moment her father abandoned the room was the moment the young girl realized that all along she had been unfair, bigoted, that she had turned her back and forbidden even a kind word of leaving her lips with her younger brother at the receiving end, blaming him for her father's ―both their father's― deeds, but all along… all along she had shamelessly knowing and ignoring the fact that Max, small and weak and helpless wasn't anything other than another victim of what Robert Lightwood ―Robert Lightwood, not her father anymore― had done.

As Max's tiny arms circled her neck, breathing in her scent with relief when he recognized a smell somewhat similar to Maryse's, Isabelle couldn't help the smile that climbed her lips; neither did she mind how she fondly tightened her hold around her brother.

That was the moment Isabelle Lightwood pledged to protect her brother from their father, from their mother, from everyone who dared put a finger on him.

―*―*―

Not more than a year or two had gone by when something else changed in the picture.

Jonathan Wayland, the newly-orphan son of Robert's parabatai would be brought to live with them, and if having another boy running around in the house wasn't bad enough, her first impression of Jonathan didn't help either.

In all honesty, the first time she encountered the blond boy, she didn't like him. He was far too stoic, far too insensible. His father had just died, leaving him utterly alone in the world and thus he was now forced to live with complete strangers, but his eyes weren't clouded with tears or even with nervousness. He just… he didn't seem to be feeling anything, his eyes, that would have been handsome if not for the coldness in them, were void of emotion and when he talked, Isabelle could only perceive the indifference of an answering machine in his voice.

As Jonathan was presented to them, the three Lightwood children standing in a line from eldest to youngest at the entrance of the house, all Isabelle did was grip Max's hand more tightly in hers. She didn't want someone like that near her brother, she didn't want such an influence, so unnatural, so stoic, floating around in the atmosphere that a child as innocent as Max breathe. No, not when her brother's sweet laugh and cheery greetings were the only thing, the only thing she enjoyed in her day.

That was how she decided she hated Jonathan Wayland just after meeting him.

―*―*―

It took more than a couple of weeks for her to actually start warming up at the boy.

No matter how much pity she could feel for his loss if she tried hard enough, the boy's attitude towards that very same loss was simply… wrong, unnatural. She simply didn't feel comfortable around him.

Max, on the other side, was simply fascinated with the newcomer and was not afraid of showing it. He was just learning to walk, and even as he could go around a little more freely in small rooms, he still stumbled and fell from time to time.

The very first occasion in which Isabelle felt something other than calculated indifference towards Jonathan was one of those times.

They were in the library, the four of them. Alec was endeavored in reading a book while Isabelle held Max distractedly, the boy's hands in hers while he stood in front of the sofa she was sitting on. Jonathan, away from them, was mainly ignoring everyone else, standing in the middle of the space the couches left free at the middle of the room, a seraph blade gripped in his hands as he trained.

More than once, Isabelle had been tempted to tell Jonathan to stop, to warn him to be careful with the furniture and books, to quit playing with the knife ―although she had to admit he was good at what he did―, to stop. She plainly didn't like him, or anything he did.

The reason she got distracted enough to stop paying attention to Max and turned away from him was because of Alec. Her older brother asked something of no importance, and as she answered, she made a tiny fuss with her hands, leaving Max without supervision for nothing more than two seconds―same that were enough. Taking advantage of the girl's sudden disruption, the two-year-old headed off towards the blond boy.

By the time she noticed Max was dangerously near that blade with a pointy end it was already too late to reach for him before he caught up with Jonathan―who was too full of himself to notice the clumsy baby that was so terribly close to him.

Isabelle Lightwood wasn't someone who screamed often. She didn't cry either, and unlike most girls, she didn't squeal or shriek when something looked cute to her. However, as she saw her brother trip and plunge to the floor she couldn't help the worried cry that climbed her throat.

The first time Isabelle Lightwood saw Jonathan Wayland, she despised him, feeling such a mechanical and unnatural atmosphere around him. The first time she thought she may have taken a wrong decision about him was when she saw that very same Jonathan Wayland drop the blade he was holding and turn to catch her brother before the toddler hit the ground.

She would have been lying if she'd said she didn't let out a sigh of relief once she saw Max safely secured in Jonathan's strong arms, far from the floor and, most importantly, away from that knife.

Also, she would have been lying if she'd said that a soft smile didn't appear on her lips as she saw Jonathan's awkward expression when Max shrieked in delight and raised his tiny fingers to the older boy's face.

All in all, that slight worry on Jonathan's marbled features, that awkward clumsiness in the way he stood and that fierce fire that shone in his eyes made her believe that maybe, just maybe, they could get along.

That was the first time Jonathan Wayland looked human to her.

―*―*―

More than ten years later, Isabelle Lightwood was once again standing next to Jonathan, even when his last name had changed so many times and she hadn't called him by his complete name in years. This time, they weren't in New York Institute's library, and they weren't training.

They were standing, emotionless and empty-hearted, in front of the lifeless body of Maxwell Lightwood, her brother, their brother, the one and only person she wanted to shield from reality, the one and only person she had vowed to protect.

The one person she had failed to defend.

Funny, she thought bitterly, how things changed, how hate could turn into love, how from despise could born trust, how life could turn into death.

Isabelle Lightwood wasn't one to cry, not in the least. She could, of course, feel whatever emotions that usually made people tear up, but things weren't like that for her. Tears were an indication of weakness, and while Isabelle Lightwood was many things, she wasn't weak.

Far from that, she was fierce, she was strong―she was a fighter. And, likewise, when someone hurt her and pain built up inside of her until she needed to let it out somehow, she exploded. Pain made her angry, fuming. Hurt put heedless words on her tongue and fire ―not tears― in her eyes.

Anger was not what she felt as she stared down at the death body of her baby brother.

Sure, there was a thirst for revenge, an agonic need to kill with her bare hands the one who had robbed her from her brother. The flames of hatred inside her, however, were almost out, and anger didn't fill her chest like it normally did whenever she ached somehow.

She just… she felt empty, useless, impotent. Weak. She hadn't been there when Max needed her the most, she hadn't… she hadn't been there on time.

She had lost him, likewise he had lost her, because she plainly hadn't been there for him.

Just as she dwelled on that realization, human tears finally filled her eyes and violent sobs climbed her back and why, why in the world was it so hard to see clearly, to stop crying?

Deciding that, for once, she didn't care how she looked, she let her feelings show bright and clear on her face and tears run down her face. Who knew, maybe for years she had been acting as mechanic as Jace had the first time she'd encountered him.

Only when that thought hit her did she remember the one she considered her brother and raised her eyes, trying to spot him out of the crowd.

And what she saw honestly scared her, because he resembled that automaton she'd first met and that emptiness was something she never wanted to see again, much less in the eyes of someone he cared so much for.

That was when she reached for him and circled his back, hoping, just hoping that that look in his eyes would go away. And when he looked down at her and she saw how much pain his orbs denoted she almost felt relieved because that, at least, was something she could relate to.

And when he returned the gesture and hugged her, his touch felt real and warm and human―and she clung to that, she clung to it because that was all she had left.

And for the first time she cried in front of Jace and in front of everyone, because there was a first time for everything, and when there was nothing left to hope for, maybe giving up really was all one could do.

**Author's Note:**

> I know the end is sad, guys, I know! Sorry! I swear I didn't want to go all the way to the funeral but... things happened, and the story would have had less impact if we had taken this part out, please understand!
> 
> I need to write something cheery! Like, dude, this is just plainly sad! I promise I'll try to not write angst for a while, although I don't (I can't) promise anything!
> 
> Despite making you suffer (on purpose, I had to admit, although I swear I also hurt myself while writing these things), I love you with my whole heart! Read you soon!


End file.
